


Spoil The Child

by catarrhini



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Deepthroating, Drunk Sex, Facials, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarrhini/pseuds/catarrhini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is vile, my son,” he protested, his voice a sensual rasp. “Your lust is filthy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoil The Child

The party was already nearing its sixth hour, and Thranduil surveyed the intoxicated partygoers languidly, draped lazily upon the cushions that were littered throughout the chamber. Aduaras played harp and sang rhapsodically by the hearth, flanked by a group of mesmerized young men and women. Thranduil tipped his glass against his lips, draining the last drops of Dorwinion wine with pleasure. Legolas lounged on his side to Thranduil’s left, curled towards his father’s prone, lean frame. He watched Thranduil with bloodshot eyes, toying with the rim of his empty glass.

“You need more wine, ada,” Legolas purred. Thranduil chuckled, his breath slow and heavy.

“I believe I’ve drunk the very last we’ve got,” Thranduil slurred. “Best call the servants to bring more from the cellar.”

“No, ada,” Legolas whined. “It’ll take too long.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “I saw a few bottles in the antechamber. Come. We shall retrieve them and become the heroes of the party.” Thranduil laughed, reaching a hand up to Legolas, who helped his father to a wavering standing position. The two stumbled towards the door, weaving between lounging groups of drunkenly singing and laughing people.

“My venerated lords,” cried Feladirith from his position on the floor, his head resting in the lap of a pretty, young elleth. “Surely you are not leaving us so soon! We have yet to drink Dorwinion utterly dry!” The people around him erupted with raucous laughter.

“Ah, Feladirith, you tireless sot,” Thranduil crowed with a sloppy grin, “You could drink Dorwinion completely dry and yet lust for more wine!” The laughter continued. “However, I bear good tidings. Dorwinion has more wine yet, and the Prince and I mean to retrieve it for the sake of your unquenchable thirst.”

“I have ever considered you a benevolent and wise leader and rightly so!” Feladirith declared. “Do you require any assistance, my lords?”

“I sincerely doubt your ability to even walk,” Legolas chimed in, tugging his father by the sleeve. “Come, ada! Before we grow sober!” Thranduil allowed himself to be dragged bodily to the doorway into the antechamber. To the left were a series of floor to ceiling cabinets and to the right were two tall-backed chairs and a small side table. At the far end of the room was another door, which led to a private corridor to the king’s office and personal chambers. Legolas closed the door behind them as his father began opening cabinets. He watched with hazy eyes for a moment before saying, “I am brilliantly intoxicated.”

Thranduil chuckled, planting his hands firmly on Legolas’ shoulders, and leaned forward to plant a damp kiss to his son’s forehead. He pulled away with laughter in his eyes, though his mirth died in the newly born gravity of his son’s gaze. Legolas’ hands clamped desperately to his father’s biceps. A moment passed between the two men, tense with unspoken words and searing glares. Legolas drew a shaky breath and slowly, ever so slowly, tilted his face upwards, his eyes fluttering closed. “Ada,” he sighed. “Please.”

Thranduil turned away, locked in Legolas’ grip, his brow knit in anguish. “Not this again, Legolas. What you ask of me isn’t right. You can’t continue with this foolishness, my child.”

“I am no child,” he implored, voice shaking.

“You are _my_ child!”

Thranduil’s voice echoed in the chamber, giving way to deafening silence, interrupted by laughter and the beginning of a new song in the next room. Time crashed in on the two men, held in lockstep by the warring forces of desire and propriety. In renewed fervor, Legolas pressed against his father, guiding the great king like a rag doll to fall into the tall, broad chair behind him. He climbed, mounting Thranduil’s lap in an effort to stifle his protest. Legolas rested a cool hand upon the nape of Thranduil’s neck and, with his other hand, fisted the hair at the base of his skull. He leaned against the man, breathing deeply the scent of his skin and hair.

Thranduil sat rigidly, fingers like hooks cast into the arms of the chair. He screwed his eyes shut and drew breath through clenched teeth. Legolas breathed pleas into his ear. “You are king. No one can stop you from having what pleases you. I ask for one kiss, ada. I ask for so little. Why do you refuse me? Have I failed you in some way? You know I have the greatest love and respect for you, my beloved father. My rightful king.”

“Enough!” Thranduil hissed. “Enough.” Legolas pulled away from him a hand’s width, admiring the line of his father’s drawn brow, the black eye lashes splayed upon high cheekbones, the full lips pursed in anguish.

“Look at me, ada.” Thranduil gingerly opened his eyes. The plain lust he found on Legolas’ face took his breath away.

“Legolas, you are drunk,” he reasoned, his voice more cracked and broken by the second. Legolas removed his hands from his father’s hair, placing them on delicate cheeks.

“Aye, as are you,” he slurred, tilting his father’s face up to his. “And I have grown impatient. Perhaps I shall take what you are reluctant to give.” He paused, reading Thranduil’s expression for protest.

“If you resolve to take what you desire,” Thranduil whispered, “then I can not stop you. Nor would…” He paused, eyes darting to his son’s sensitive mouth. “Nor would I try to.” He absently licked his dry lips. Lust won its course in Legolas. He leaned in slowly and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his father’s mouth.  

“There now,” he whispered. “Was that so horrible?”

Thranduil’s mouth slackened, his eyes heavy with loss. “Was that… all you craved?” He was needy. He heard it as the words left his mouth. He cringed inwardly. A sly, dangerous, feline smirk lit Legolas’ face.

“Why, of course, my sweet king,” Legolas demurred, rising from straddling. He stood before his father, who averted his gaze from the proof of Legolas’ carnal interest in him. The impetuous youth bent at the waist, firmly resting his palms high on Thranduil’s thighs. They were eye level once more. Legolas dragged his thumbs across the inseam of his father’s leggings. “Unless…?”

Thranduil swallowed audibly as Legolas held him in his icy blue gaze. At length, he summoned resolve once more and said, “Legolas, you mustn’t toy with me in this way. If Feladirith or one of the others were to enter now…”

“Wouldn’t _they_ be surprised?” Legolas bitterly finished. He drew himself back up to his full height. “And imagine their reaction if you had me on my knees, our bodies entwined like the Men of Gondor do when their women are scarce.”

“You must leave me, my son,” Thranduil warned. “Return to the revelry. I can suffer no more of this talk.” Legolas had the gall to smirk at his father.

“And what am I going to do about _this_ , ada?” he asked, tenderly sliding his hand down his hip, cupping his erection. “I can hardly return to the party when I’m so unreservedly in need of your firm hand.” Thranduil remained paralyzed in his seat as Legolas dragged another chair to sit directly facing the man, his knees splayed to rest on each side of his father’s.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil demanded. Legolas smiled as he untied the laces of his leggings, shimmying the soft suede down to his thighs. His thick, reddened cock smacked against his belly as it was freed. Thranduil hissed through his teeth. “This is improper.”

“Yes, it absolutely is, my father,” Legolas sighed, tenderly taking himself in hand and sliding his fist from the root to the tip of his cock with a low moan. He stared his father straight in the eyes. Thranduil’s eyes lowered slowly to his son’s cock. He wet his lips.

“This is vile, my son,” he protested, his voice a sensual rasp. “Your lust is filthy.” Legolas groaned, slowing the pumping of his fist. He stood, grabbing his father by the back of the head. He pressed his swollen cockhead against Thranduil’s lips.

“Ada, please,” he sighed. “I want to fuck your mouth.” Thranduil breathed heaving gusts through his nose, mouth clenched shut. “Taste my cock, ada. Open your mouth.” Thranduil grimaced, screwing his forehead in fury. With eyes tightly closed, he grabbed Legolas’ hips with bruising force and parted his mouth, sucking Legolas’ cock past wet, soft lips and rough tongue and halfway down his tight throat. “Ai, Eru! Ada, yeah.”

Roughly, Thranduil sucked and gagged, wantonly devouring his son’s hard, thick cock. Legolas panted, biting his open palm to keep from screaming out. His voice rose and his legs began to shake as Thranduil drew away to gasp for breath and sucked Legolas deep again, his nose resting in a nest of black hair. Thranduil choked and gagged again, spluttering saliva that dripped down Legolas’ balls. Legolas fisted a messy handful of Thranduil’s hair, yanking his head away as he shot a thick, creamy load into Thranduil’s startled face. A stream of cum and saliva slipped from his slack mouth, down his chin.

Legolas released his hair, and Thranduil slunk back against the chair, gasping for breath. He was a wild mess, all rumpled clothes and mussed hair and cum streaking his reddened face, staining the breast of his robe. “Now, was that so horrible?” Legolas whispered, bending to lick the cum from Thranduil’s face and place a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I… I’m really drunk, Legolas,” he replied. “I’m going to my bedchamber. Make my apologies to the guests.” With that, he wiped the remaining seed from his face and rose, jostling Legolas out of the way. He hastily moved to exit through the door to the corridor.

As he reached the handle to leave, Legolas whispered, “Thank you, ada.” Thranduil froze, not looking at his son. After a moment, he opened the door and was gone.


End file.
